


easily will unclose me

by kyrilu



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Blindfolds, Community: bondkink, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eve is nervous, and M helps out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	easily will unclose me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



> AS I'VE BEEN PROMISING. Here it is, for [this prompt.](http://bondkink.livejournal.com/816.html?thread=212016#t212016) <3
> 
> Hope you like it, anon!prompter! Thank you for bringing me out of my shell and making this fic happen. It took me a long time to finish this, sadly, because I could not get out of the said shell and actually write porn.

Eve hears the thrill of soft music pulsing against the bedroom walls. It’s not exactly a bedroom, of course -- just a small room where the guests could slip in for a comfortable bed. Order in a girl or a bloke that fits their tastes, and then kip out back into the party later for a drink or a dance. The smell of perfume dances in her nose when she sinks against the cushions, her hand still clutching on her gun, her body open to the door.

It was supposed to be safe. A key assembly of sorts -- comprised of political figures, celebrities, all that rubbish. Eve wonders where Bond is, but when she tries to contact him, there’s no response. Nothing from Q’s end, either.

She grinds her teeth together in frustration. Waits.

She had barely got out before the gunshots had began, and she’s left with her pulse throbbing on the surface of her skin, frantic.

The door opens, and it’s shut in a hurried flutter. “Moneypenny,” a figure says. “There you are. The situation outside -- do you think it can be contained?”

“M,” she says, relieved. “Ma’am. I don’t know. I just got out in time once the first gun went off -- I counted a dozen or so of them following his lead, maybe more in the next room over. I have no idea where Bond went.”

“The comm line is--?” M raises her hand to her ear, indicating her own ear piece.

“Dead for me, too,” Eve says. “We’re going to have to wait it out. Wait for it to come back live again. And hope they don’t catch us here. Sorry,” she adds, as if it’s her fault.

M nods once. Twice. Her face is calm and collected, and Eve wonders at her control.

Really, M remains elegant and regal in her simple, prim white dress, something that she’d donned for the occasion. Eve hadn’t bothered with a dress, and had a suit fitted for her -- a subtle grey tuxedo. She likes the cut, bulky and enveloping, and the androgynous appearance had body had given off. There’s a black tie on her neck, and it feels like it’s stifling her.

“What do you think happened to 007, ma’am?” Eve says, to fill the empty space of conversation.

“Taking his time. As per usual,” M says, but there’s a twist in her mouth that Eve recognises as affection. But there’s wariness, too -- the hard, ramrod posture M’s put up, the shape of her shoulders. Danger, danger, danger...looks like she’s still got her instincts intact, too.

A smile flickers on Eve’s mouth. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Her hand is shaking on the gun. Christ. Has it really been that long? She draws it further out, positioning it toward the door, so that she’s blocking M. Always protect superiors. Right.

“You’re not going to achieve anything in that state, Moneypenny,” M says, and Eve jumps.

“Sorry, ma’am?”

“Nerves. There’s more of a chance of a misfire, or a ricochet, or god knows what else. Steady. Don’t kill us both before the action starts.”

“Sorry,” Eve says again, but her fingertips are wavering on the trigger, and Jesus, she used to be an expert at this.

She tries to remember the last time she’d been at the shooting range, but it feels way too long ago. She closes her eyes; when she opens them, M’s hands are on her tie.

She realises that M is very, very close to her.

“May I?” M says, a wry twist of her mouth, a brightness in her eyes, fingers twisting on the tie. “For the sake of the mission, of course.”

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, not really, but she opens herself to M, because this is a woman she’s shared work and smiles and glasses of wine. M reaches up, and presses the soft fabric of the tie against her eyes, and Eve takes this as a cue to tuck away her gun, to shed her suit jacket.

“Ma’am,” she says, her mouth dry.

“Five minutes,” M says. “Give me five minutes. You’re going to get us killed if you continue panicking, the way you are.” And she sounds gently exasperated. “I don’t quite trust myself to deal with this on my own, either. Which is why we’re going to have to do this.”

“All right,” Eve manages, and she thinks of meeting M the first time, surveying blue eyes and the curve of her neckline and hearing the _sharpness_ in her voice. Inspiring respect and something much warmer -- oh hell. She shifts side to side uneasily.

“Don’t move until I tell you.”

Eve whispers, “Yeah,” and forces herself to still. It’s dark behind the material of the blindfold, pitch black, and she lets her eyelids shutter close. She can hear the faint pulse of music, the sound of her and M’s breaths. Inhale, exhale, inhale exhale.

There’s a rustling noise; Eve feels a hand shifting to her hair. Just a few gentle touches, back and forth, and she holds back a shuddering breath.

“Is this--?” M says, unexpectedly hesitant, pausing the contact.

She makes an amused noise in the back of her throat. “Hmm, no.” She stops to correct herself: “No, ma’am. Q had a -- a sister, if you’ve read the files.”

“The pilot?”

Eve nods, silent. She liked Kate, a lot, over her posh brother, anyway. It wasn’t serious, just on and off; but it was always nice to come back to somebody familiar after her missions.

(There’s a reason why Q’s afraid of flying.)

“You?” Eve says, quietly, in an attempt for reciprocation.

“I was a field agent, once, don’t you recall?” M says, and her hand moves down to the back of Eve’s neck, folding against skin. “I was young.”

Eve smiles. “A bit like Bond?”

“Oh, no,” M replies. “I’d say I was a lot more -- what’s the word?” She guides Eve’s hands to the front of her collared shirt, and Eve obligingly fumbles to undo the buttons. The top slips off, falling at her waist.

M picks up the conversation: “ _Careful_ , I suppose.” Here, M’s fingers rub soft circles on Eve’s upper back.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eve says, and she shudders, her eyelids fluttering against her tie. Still dark, but the fabric doesn’t hurt, at least, perhaps just a mite prickly.

M’s hands are worn. Because she was a field agent, just like she said, and calluses and crinkled palms make shapes against Eve’s back. The music continues to play, time dragging on, and there’s a change in rhythm.

“My dear,” M whispers into her ear, “you’re shivering.” A sound of movement, and judging by the way the bed shifts, she’s in front of Eve now.

Eve bites the bottom of her lip. “Nerves,” she breathes.

“Such a state you’re in,” M says, and a hand rests against Eve’s chest, just cupping underneath her breasts. 

She holds back a gasp -- a flutter of air, barely audible, and she reminds herself that there’s a gun in the room that needs to be used, that there’s utter chaos outside, that it’s hard to not _think_ \--

“Three more minutes,” M says, and the time and the hands and the words ground her, and Eve keeps her eyes closed under the black black tie.

Eve feels her bra fall away, settling at her side. Now there’s nothing between M’s fingers and her breasts. A finger skims across, light and teasing, and she hisses _Jesus_.

“Shall I have to gag you as well?” M says mildly.

The cadence of her voice, steady and sure, warms the spaces that led to the cold, where she shook. Eve doesn’t respond, just takes in the sensation of her nipples slowly hardening, heat pooling downwards.

“Ma’am,” she says, and that’s all.

“You can do it,” M says, and again she directs Eve’s hand, but this time to her waist. “I know you can’t see, but -- you need to keep your eyes shut, Eve. I want you to feel this.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eve whispers, and she starts to blindly touch herself, desperate, fingers curling around her cunt. She’s wet, and she wonders how she looks like to M, for M. Then it’s all building, and she reaches her climax, her fingers warm from her own heat. She’s left panting, wishing for _skin_ , for contact, but she knows this is how she’s meant to feel.

Then M lets the tie fall away, hands sliding down from Eve’s face, tracing the shape of her cheeks.

Eve breathes, and smiles at shining blue eyes, blinking into the sudden light. She says softly, “ _M_.”

“Agent Moneypenny,” M replies. Her hands eventually withdraw from Eve’s face, and maybe she’s smiling, too, even if it’s barely perceptible.

“Let’s go,” Eve says. She reaches down and fits the gun into her hand, gathering her clothes and her wits about her. “Are you ready?” And she’s grinning, and she’s ready, no longer shaking or doubting.

“Go on, my dear girl,” M says with a wonderful, brilliant laugh.

Eve opens the door, and goes out to save the day.

**Author's Note:**

> This...is actually not the first explicit femslash thing I have ever written. *stares at unfinished Pepper/Natasha soul!bond fic on an anon meme*


End file.
